


Weight

by Name1



Series: Moving Forward [1]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22655413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Name1/pseuds/Name1
Summary: Just two damaged people becoming a little less damaged together.
Relationships: Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Cara Dune & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Cara Dune & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Cara Dune/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: Moving Forward [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1648918
Comments: 36
Kudos: 145





	Weight

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> After more years of only reading and lurking than I care to admit, I finally decided to put on my big girl pants and try my hand at writing a story of my own.
> 
> This is my very first story and I was really hesitant to post it, but I hope you enjoy it as much as I do :)  
> Please forgive typos and grammatical idiocy. I'm still figuring out where punctuation goes around quotation marks. It's a journey.

Fine, he’d admit to himself that he was worried. She was usually so stoic and outright resilient when fighting, it was strange to see her like this now. Injuries garnered during a fight typically only spurred her on to fight harder and she’s laugh them off with a trademark smirk before jumping right back into the thick of it, her strengthened resolve stemming from the fire in her blood ignited by a good fight. Hell, sometimes it almost seemed she “let” an opponent get a hit in just to really get her going. Seeing her by his side now, breathing shallowly through her nose with perfectly timed inhales and exhales put him on edge. Getting her off her feet had been a feat by itself. Where reasoning and logic had failed, the extra inches he had on her combined with her injury made her more pliable in a way he wasn’t sure he liked. Her stubbornness combined with her quick wit were reassuring to him in stressful situations, traits he had never really appreciated in anyone else before. Her lack of objection (both verbal and physical) when he all but forced her shoulders down to get her on the fold-down cot, confirmed that she was actually hurting under her façade of calmness she portrayed even now.

“Are you ok?”, he asked.

He glanced to the metal enclosed pram where the child slept, convincing himself once again that he was okay-just sleeping. It was only a near miss this time.

“Great,” she replied, the response more of an exhale with her next measured breath than an actual word. Her eyes were still squeeze tightly closed, a detail he hadn’t overlooked.  
“Gonna be a hell of a bruise though, I’ll give him that,” she scoffed. She strategically turned the left side of her body away from him as she spoke.

“Did you hit your head when you fell?”

“No, I went down on my hands and knees over Bean to cover him when the shit hit the fan. As far as I know I only have the one shot to the shoulder, but it glanced off. Don’t be such a worrier….”

He isn’t sure if it’s relief or some other more confusing emotion rushing through him when he thinks of the shot she took, willing to protect the kid, his kid. He can’t help but think back over the events of the day and loses himself for a moment.

The flash of light he saw out of the corner of his eye, his brain mentally working out the trajectory in a fraction of a second. In the two minutes they had let Bean out of his protective carrier, it had all gone straight to Hell. After listening to his pitiful mewling sounds and uncomfortable shuffling from the carrier, he figured just a minute of freedom wouldn’t hurt. The bar they were in was relatively empty-- not empty enough it turned out. He caved when he saw how stir crazy the little one was getting and put him down on the floor for just a minute to let him stretch his legs, and the smile and happy coos he let out when his feet touched the ground made Din let his guard down. As soon as he heard the first blast, a panicked Din looked over hoping not to see what would be his worst nightmare, the kid lying there motionless, hurt or even worse because of his inability to protect him. What he saw instead made stomach jump into his throat, even thinking about it now from the safety of the ship.

Cara, oddly crumpled on the ground, arms and legs at weird angles underneath her, yet not moving and the kid nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t until the other patrons of the bar emptied out and the two who started the firefight were sporting new blaster marks in their chests was he able to reach her. Holding his breath, he turned her over, not knowing what to expect. Her whole body tensed into a tight protective cocoon until she recognized who it was touching her. His gloves were unmistakable, but it was his touch itself that she knew almost immediately. No one else had ever touched her like he did, a mix of strength, tenderness and affection, a combination she didn’t think could even exist.  
“Is he ok?” she asked hurriedly as she reached down under her stomach with her right hand to check Bean over.

The kid picked himself up off the dirt-covered floor with all the resilience of a typical child. Din patted along his arms and legs, checked his head and concluded he was ok.  
“Yes, he’s seems like he’s fine” he replied. They got lucky, again. He didn’t want to jinx things by asking aloud how many times they could keep getting lucky before their luck ran out. Those thoughts would never be voiced, in the off chance the universe could hear him and react accordingly.

“Thank the Stars. I didn’t even think. I saw that guy in the corner raise his blaster and leapt for the kid”.

“Hey, you all right little man?” she asked while stroking down his fuzzy fly away hairs on his wrinkly head, still out of place from when they both unexpectedly hit the dirt. She ran her hands down his delicate ears and smiled as they perked right up at the attention and the affection he gleamed from her touch. The chirp he answered her with was weak compared to his usual sound and she hoped she hadn’t scared him too badly earlier. She’d never be described as dainty or delicate and she had tried to shield him from the majority of her weight when she came down over him in that terrifying moment. Still, her coming down on him combined with the blaster fire could not have been anything other than scary for such a small creature.

Not wanting to linger any longer, and convinced that he was no worse for the wear, she struggled briefly to put her long cloak back on to protect herself from the sun and the 3 of them quickly made their way back to the Crest to figure out what the hell had just happened. She also didn’t want Din fussing over her injuries, better just to cover it up and lick her wounds in the privacy of her bunk later. How did anyone think to look for the kid here on this backwater planet? It was the main reason they had chosen it to touch down and decompress for a day or two. Guess it was time to leave already. Damn.

Still very wary of the locals and eager to get back aboard the ship they walked at a brisk pace while keeping their eyes open. Taking turns looking opposite each other in perfect synchrony and switching views seamlessly to cover blind spots, they made their way to the ship and up the ramp without further incident. Even in spontaneous moments of panic she couldn’t help but appreciate the easy rhythm they naturally fell into.

Din was brought back to the present when he heard her grunt after untying her cloak and struggling to get it off.  
He looked to the left side of her body, patiently waiting for her to remove her armor so he could see how bad the bruise was under it. He was fully prepared to make a snarky remark about her wincing from just a bruise, mostly just to see her roll her eyes at him.

Instead what met his eyes was worse than he feared. The entirety of her shoulder plate was shattered. He could see the dark red of her blood like spilled wine down the side of her arm.

“Cara, what the hell?!” he yelled. “He almost blew your shoulder off! You said it was just a bruise”!

“Don’t be so dramatic” she drawled.

He gingerly helped her out of the bulk of her armor, trying to jostle her left arm and shoulder as little as possible. When he got her down to her black undershirt he stopped. He got up and made it the 5 steps in the cramped hold to where they kept the first aid med kit to grab some scissors, before returning to her side.

“Tell me you’re not going to destroy my last good shirt. My only other shirts are white and they look stupid under my armor. I can’t go out looking like that”.

That earned her a snort, the favorite of his honest laughs. “Sorry, I don’t see any way around it. We’ve really got to work on your priorities. I can’t move your arm and the blaster ruined the fabric at the top anyway, it’s not mendable”.

“Uggh, fine, do your worst” she sighed, as he started running the flat side of the scissors up the outside of her shoulder. “You owe me a shirt though”.

“Deal,” he huffed. He wanted to keep her talking to distract her as he got to the seared fabric stuck in her open wound. As he peeled it away the size and appearance of the wound gave him pause. Luckily it had been cauterized by the heat of the blast, but the smell of burnt skin and blood wasn’t pleasant. The edges of the wound were marked by jagged borders that would not be able to neatly patch back together. The wound itself was deep and wide and he thought about how to best go about this. The worst part was the debris still embedded in her skin. The metal and fiberglass layers of her armor designed to protect, when shattered under force, acted as jagged projectiles that too easily pierced her soft skin.

“Do you want some painkillers before I get started?” he offered. Their med kits were actually stocked for once and he felt relieved he could at least offer her something to take the edge off. The thought of hurting her unnecessarily made his stomach twist.

“Pills or local?” she inquired.

“Pills will have a better effect and let you relax for the worst of it”.

“I’ll take the local. I don’t have such a great history with painkillers,” she stated cryptically. The injections around the periphery of the wound didn’t even make her flinch, and he hoped it was simply because it didn’t hurt and not because she had real nerve damage.

The practical part of his brain tried to reassure him that while her left hook was a force to be reckoned with, it was her right that was the real powerhouse and her right shoulder was perfectly fine. This injury wouldn’t debilitate her. Come to think of it, his head still rung from time to time thinking about how she came down on him so hard, so long ago, and that initial hit she landed on him like a sledgehammer.

He started taking out the first of the largest slivers with sterile tweezers, but the fiberglass pieces were jagged around the edges and caused more damage on removal than they did on entry. The metal pieces were smooth and strangely did much less damage despite their composition. Some of the pieces must have been acting to stem the bleeding, since when he removed them her blood started flowing freely down her arm alarmingly fast.

“Shit,” he cursed. “Sorry about this but the whole shirt has to go,” he said as he was quickly cutting the fabric up her side. “This is worse than I thought. You’re losing blood pretty fast and I need to wash it out before applying pressure”.

She didn’t answer but nodded her agreement. He cut away her ruined shirt and bra, making sure he was behind her the whole time. He reached out and grabbed the cloak she had discarded and pushed it into her hands,

“Here tuck this around yourself”.

“I’m in too much pain to really give two shits about modesty right now, but thanks”.

“Who says it’s _your_ modesty I’m worried about,” he said in a playful voice.” I’d like to be able to concentrate before I sew this up crooked and you have to live with my shoddy sewing skills for the rest of your life”. He felt a rush of shame at the way that came out, stemming from the odd thrill he had at leaving a permanent mark on her. Luckily, she didn’t seem to notice and instead honed in on the playful tilt to his words.

When she first met him, she didn’t believe his voice modulator could convey different emotions or tones of voice, but she had been proved wrong after only days, even hours around him. The connection they had even from the very beginning on Sorgan was so natural that she had been slightly alarmed by it. Never being one to open up or make friends easily, she found talking to him easier than anyone she had ever known. His replies had started out succinct and precise, but the way they mirrored each other in both attitude and life experiences led to him talking to her of his own volition, not just answering her questions, even seeking her out to run ideas by her when it wasn’t necessary.  
How could you become friends with someone so easily? She quickly learned to her strange satisfaction that he was quite witty and had a sarcastic sense of humor, much like hers. The variety of changes to his voice were more of a surprise. Of course, he had his trademark no-nonsense deep voice she was used to hearing, but when he spoke of the kid she could hear the change in his voice. She wondered if he knew it was a tell and found herself feeling protective of this man she had just met. Before long, she could soon tell if he was lying or telling the truth just by the sounds of his voice, not to mention his body language. He had a wry sense of humor when he let himself relax, and she felt privileged to be on the receiving end of it. How the tenor of his voice changed when he was truly worried was a sound that sent chills up her spine and his soft breathy laugh was one of the best things she had ever heard, especially when she was the one that pulled it out of him.

The playfulness in his tone now as she sat on the fold-down cot made her feel warm all over, manifesting itself first in her stomach but soon radiating up through her chest before diffusing all along the entirety of her skin. She absolutely did not blush, _no way_ , and would be damned to start now. Not knowing how to react and her head slightly light from blood loss, she wasn’t sure she could keep up with him in a battle of wits and definitely not in their continual dance of flirtatious give and take. It took everything she had to keep up with him when it came to this delicate ever-changing thing between them that neither of them would voice aloud, as if in some unspoken agreement. If they acknowledged it, were they worried it would vanish into thin air, or that they would just fuck it up? Without her wits about her, she worried she would slip up and either call him on his bluff or give away too much without her normal filter. He had come to be the most important person to her in her life (him and the kid), and she wouldn’t risk ruining that with her desire to see how far his affection went. That was the main reason she turned down the analgesic, the loss of her inhibitions was dangerous at the best of times. Hearing his soft worried voice tinged with a hint of playfulness was too much for her brain to be at anything less than 100%.

The snicker she lets out is so perfectly her (coming from deep down in her chest before making its way out her nose), it makes it impossible not to smile along with her. He doesn’t know when it became one of his favorite sounds, but It’s undeniable.

“You’re saying my gorgeous breasts are distracting you? They _are_ pretty great,” she said in a sleepy voice that almost sounded a little slurred at the end. The smile on her face didn't go anywhere though, and he was thankful she was still with him. Her teasing words were more reassuring than anything.  
“We can talk about your gorgeous breasts later”.

“Promises, promises,” She slurred out in a borderline sultry tone and then let the matter go. _Wait, that wasn’t like her at all_ Din thought to himself. Usually she would needle and tease him until he was warm under his helmet. She seemed to enjoy how much she flustered him.  
Just how much blood has she lost that she didn’t take the bait?

He removed the remaining pieces, flooded the wounds with two containers of sterile wash solution, watching it rush down her arm and all over the floor and then held down the pads of gauze against her shoulder with enough pressure to make her hiss her displeasure.

“Sorry,” he muttered. He knew it was necessary, but he didn’t like being the cause of her pain.  
The last thing she clearly remembered was his soft voice apologizing as the thick needle first entered her skin. She looked down and saw the long length string dangling from it and thought, _that must be a lot of stitches_ , before she lost consciousness.

He removed his armor after what seemed like hours. Several of the plates were covered in her blood but he didn’t have the energy to try to clean them now Besides, he didn’t want to move more than an arm’s length from Cara as she slept on the cot. He managed to patch her up, give her a dose of antibiotics and then lay her down, all while she was unconscious. He found a blanket to cover her with in place of the dirty cloak and once he covered up her chest and shoulders, she almost looked like she was just taking a rest between jobs, like any normal day. She had stopped sweating and her perfect face was perfectly at ease. Why did she have to look like that?

As soon as he allowed his mind to relax and forced his body to follow suit, the weight of what he had witnessed today finally caught up with him.  
He felt ridiculous thinking back to how panicked he felt unveiling the severity of her wound. If he had been able to logically assess the situation, he would have triaged it as a deep flesh wound at worst. Over the months they had traveled together, she had told him stories of her time in the rebellion and all the doomed missions she was sent on and carried out without thinking for one second she’d make it out the other side with her life. She had described to him some truly gruesome injuries with pride in her voice and he couldn’t help but be proud of her strength and will to live during such a difficult tumultuous time. He has seen the scars on her arms when she took off her vambraces and heard her grumbled complaints about the scar tissue she had on her legs and abdomen, aching when they temperature dropped in deep space.

A blaster shot here, a knife wound there- she always made it sound like it was nothing. He knew the pride that could come from a well-earned scar and had downplayed his own share of injuries over the years on the rare occurrence someone inquired about his well-being. Having been both shot and stabbed himself, he knew the pain that came with it. The stitched-up wound she sported now was nothing in the long line of wounds that had taken up residence on Cara Dune, but this one didn’t sit well with him at all. In fact, it felt like a weight sitting on his chest in such a visceral way he fought the urge to take off his own chest plate to inspect himself for injuries. Her blood loss hadn’t been life threatening, but seeing her eyes close and her body go limp scared him more than he was prepared for. He had almost lost his……  
He paused. He was too exhausted coming down from the adrenaline rush to be asking himself these kinds of questions, but he couldn’t help it. If not now, then when? Once their luck ran out and he was full of what-ifs?

Who was she to him, really? His ally to be sure, his friend most definitely, his confidant yes. None of those things seems to capture the importance of her in his life. The sheer force of her in his life. Those descriptions all felt shallow and empty after looking at the blood on the floor under the cot she slept on, completely oblivious to his inner turmoil. The fact that she threw herself in front of his son hurt to think about. He knew she cared about the cute kid. That she was the closest thing to a mother the kid knew was one thing. It was another thing that she had thrown herself in the line of fire to protect him like he was hers too. The thought of losing her to save the kids life like some perverse kind of trade gone wrong was upsetting enough for steer him away from more introspective thoughts. He took up residency on the nearest chair after grabbing the kid from his carrier. He’d been remiss doting on his boy and reassuring him everything was fine. He was remarkably perceptive for someone so small, and no doubt knew something wasn’t right. He gave up on the chair and sat on the floor with the kid in his lap and let him waddle around when he had enough of sitting still. The kid looked up at Cara, chirped and reached his arms up like he expected her to pick him up. When she didn’t move, he looked back to Din with a tilt of his head.

“She’s going to be ok, she’s just sleeping now”. Reassuring the little one served a dual purpose as he finally allowed himself to believe his own words spoken out loud. Hours went by and when the child finally showed signs of being sleepy, he held him in his lap as they both fell asleep.

When she woke up, she realized she was lying down on the cot and Din was nowhere in sight. She turned her head and looked down and saw the top of his helmet and felt a sigh of relief he hadn’t left her to go off on some mission alone to allow her to rest. As she tried to sit up, she let out a sharp intake of breath and before she knew what happened, Din was by her side helping to steady her and maneuver her into a sitting position. His armor was gone and the warmth of his skin through his thin shirt warmed her more than the blanket covering her upper body.

The first words out of his mouth were, “I’ll find you a shirt”. Before she could answer he walked to his bunk and grabbed a soft gray short sleeved shirt. He stood at her back as a he helped ease it over her head. Her left arm wasn’t going to tolerate moving, so she slipped her right arm through the sleeve opening and let the shirt fall over her left arm at her side, pressed against her body as a sort of brace. They both looked down at the sound of the child signaling his impatience. Din picked him up and he immediately reached for Cara.

“No, no. Cara can’t hold you right now, I’m sorry,” he said as he looked down at the little green face, his disappointment highlighted by his ears falling down to his shoulders.

“I can hold him with my good arm,” she argued and reached for him. The little one seemed to appreciate the situation and was uncharacteristically gentle in her hold. She looked down at his little wrinkled face and smiled a real smile down at him.

Din found it hard to breathe when he saw her radiant smile. Her skin was flushed from sitting up so suddenly, hair tousled from sleep and thick pieces of it were escaping her braid. He had never seen her plait in such a state of disarray, she was meticulous about its upkeep and precision of its placement. Disheveled Cara with her rumpled bed-head, wearing his worn gray shirt where it clung to her every curve was more than he signed up for when he helped her sit up. He didn’t think it was possible for her to be oblivious to her beauty and what effect it had on him, but she never flaunted it so maybe she really didn’t know. He didn’t think he had ever seen anything more beautiful and it was making his head fuzzy. And that was just on the surface…….her real beauty was everything under her beautiful skin: her bravery, her kindness, her strength, her compassion, her selflessness.

“Let me check your eyes. I know you say you didn’t hit your head, but its’s not something to overlook if you have a head injury”.

“Ok,” she turned her face to look at him full on. Bean squirmed and Din helped her get him onto the ground so he could explore. As she straightened, he briefly shined the light to check her pupils and was reassured at their constriction, looking down in relief. Breathing a little easier, he looked up and she caught his eyes.

“How do you do that?” he asked.

“Do what”?

“There’s no way you can ever see through this visor, but you always meet my eyes perfectly. You can’t possibly know where they are”.

“It’s just a feeling, When I look at you I’m not looking a metal or plastic trying to see you underneath, I just see you. I feel like I can always see you, even if I can’t see your eyes exactly. I don’t think about it. It just happens. Actually, It sounds really lame when I say it like that…..” she trailed off awkwardly. It wasn’t often she was at a loss for words.

“No, it doesn’t. It sounds………nice”. _Nice?_ He let out a groan in his head at his inability to use even monosyllabic words when she was this close to him. _Nice? Really? Get it together._

She reached up and laid her hand on the side of his helmet and smiled at him. Anyone else even raising a hand near his face would have set him off immediately and probably not ended well for them, but he trusted her. She would never dishonor him like that. He tilted his head into her hand, and she seemed surprised that he returned her affectionate touch with one of his own. This was new. New was good. New was terrifying.

As her hand fell away, his hand raised to cup her cheek. He slowly ran his hand down to her neck and curled his fingers around to feel the texture of the hair on the nape of her neck. He wasn’t sure if it was bravery at almost losing her yesterday or if it was just the spell that she had him under, but he added his other hand so that he held both sides of her soft neck in his warm hands, thumbs rubbing nervously along the line of her jaw. He held her face gently as he tiled his forehead down to meet hers.  
He held still and savored the moment where a soft and pliant Cara let him hold her and reassure himself that she really was okay. He knew he had precious seconds before _his_ Cara returned, snarky and teasing and strong.

“Did you just kiss me?” she asked with a hint of an assured smile in her voice.

“What?” his stomach did a flip. Oh shit, what did he just do without thinking? Did he just make a mistake? She knew what he was doing. She didn’t seem mad though.

“How did you know that?”

“I’m not an idiot,” she grinned all perfect white teeth and dimples, eyes sparkling. “Everyone knows that”. They both chuckled and relaxed together in an easy companionable silence. He felt all the stress melt way as he looked at her smiling at him. He noticed her hand had come up to rest over his. The warmth anchored him. He felt connected with her. And braver than he had in a long time.

“I know something else too,” she said quietly right up against his chin. “I liked it”.

“After Bean goes to sleep and we can black out the room maybe I can kiss you. You know, turnabout being fair play and all that……, “ she trailed off, looking right into him.  
Slowly her face started softening. He saw that cheeky smile he loved so much return and a sparkle lit up her eyes in a way where he knew what was coming next was likely going to make his face hot under his helmet. “And you still owe me a conversation about my gorgeous breasts. Don’t think I forgot,” she said with her smile getting impossibly wider

Game. Set. Match.

For the first time it didn’t terrify him. Something had shifted. It was worth it taking this risk. She had showed him that with her pure trust and affection, putting herself out there, waiting to see if he would catch her or just let her down easy. How was it this woman always had to remind him what bravery was?  
“I’m looking forward to it, just don’t get shot again”

Before 10 minutes ago, all they had was this building tension that was growing between them to the point it was almost palpable. He could almost breathe it in the air sometimes. To think he could have lost her, with _almost_ being all they shared wasn’t something he was ok with. Mandalorians prided themselves on their honor and bravery, yet right now he wasn’t doing a good of emulating either of those tenants. But her bravery bolstered his own. If this tenuous, blooming thing between them kept evolving and they became ‘more’ to each other what did that mean for them? What did he call her then?

He didn’t want to weigh her down with the term ‘family’, knowing how the loss of their respective families devastated them, but what if that’s already what they were? Was it wrong to call her that then, even in the privacy of his own head? Could they make that word have a new happy connotation together? He was getting ahead of himself.

  
The weight of the worry he felt pushing down on him was still there. But when he thought about the fear of risking what they _had_ for the hope of gaining something _more_ , the weight no longer felt unpleasant. It had transformed. It felt warm, heavy with potential, something on the brink of _becoming_. He’d never been so happy to be weighed down before, this time with anticipation of the days to come. Something told him it probably wouldn’t be easy, but nothing worth fighting for ever was.

**Author's Note:**

> Whew! What a load off!
> 
> Thank you to all my favorite authors whose stories I read and comment on regularly for inspiring me (you know who you are!). A special thanks to Lady_Vibeke and her kind and encouraging words, not to mention amazing stories. This one is for you girl :D


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